The Thing About Sky Pirating
by Ayanle
Summary: My take on the events of the game, with some of my own scenes and a character or two thrown in.  From different perspectives, but most Bal/Fran because I love them.
1. is that the best laid plans

Hello out there

This is my first attempt at writing on here. I know there are a few other novelizations and you may be groaning as you see this … but I wanted to tell the story my way.

Hope you enjoy! I'm not entirely sure myself where this is going.

Reviews, love, and hate mail always welcome.

* * *

The emptiness rang in his ears as the sound of the Strahl's engines faded away and they settled into the private airship hanger of one Rhett Neiman. Balthier rather hated the dry sounding name, but it ensured that they would not be bothered; who would come looking for someone so boring as to be named Rhett Neiman? He leaned back in his chair and surveyed his lovely partner, who was already intently going over the plans for tonight. Her ruby eyes scanned the charts and maps, ears flickering ever so slightly in concentration.

"There is no need dearest," he drawled. "This shall be one of our easiest jobs yet. Everything is set in place."

She afforded him a halting glance before returning to her map. "I am not so convinced that breaking into a palace should ever be referred to as 'easy.'"

"Fran, please."

She didn't even bother to glance up for that one.

Balthier grinned, leaning even further back in his chair and contemplating a nap.

* * *

She gazed out across the endless ocean, feet buried in the soft, warm white sand, salt laden breeze ruffling her long fine hair. She dared to venture a little into the water, wetting the hems of her luxurious white sun dress. It was beautiful. But she could not stay. Not after what she had learned. Not knowing who she was and what she was capable of. Not when she posed such a threat to all those she knew and loved. Not when she could be used for such ends.

She sighed, gazing out across the ocean one last time, at the white puffs of clouds reflected in it and the tall sails of distant ships slowly making their way toward harbor. She had only come to say goodbye, but he had not been home. It was for the best, she supposed. Her father would be in too grave a danger if they knew she had come to see him, and her mother's home was far too close to those who sought her. She had to run. Reluctantly she climbed out of the water and retrieved her pack from under the lone tree on the shore. With one final glance at the grand seaside mansion she shouldered her pack and headed for the grasslands on the edge of town, praying that there was refuge beyond them.

* * *

Vaan looked toward the palace, glittering like a star as the last rays of sun faded behind it. He was going to do it. Now was the perfect time, now that everyone was occupied with the fete. Quietly he slipped down the stairs into Lowtown and made his way to the sewers that would lead him to the palace. He tried to ignore the pangs of guilt as he made his way through the slimy, foul smelling water. He didn't mean to break his promise, and he figured Penelo would never find out anyways, at least not until it was all over and by that time he hoped he would have a good deal of treasure and a decent pile of gil to impress her with. With that kind of persuasion she would have to forgive him, right?

He tried to convince himself of this as he found his way into the trapdoor into the palace cellar. He slipped in to blend with the rest of the crowd, biding his time pretending to be a servant until he could find the right moment. And then he would take back what was rightfully Dalmasca's.

* * *

He had lost track of the days. In the vast immovable darkness there was no need for such things as days. He clung to life only on the feeble hope that Dalmasca would yet live, that she would rise above her chains. If only he could rise above his. Captain Basch fon Ronsenberg, once great and admired knight, now a skeleton of a prisoner is a cage.

* * *

The supposed late Princess Ashelia b'nargin Dalmasca waited in the shadows with her loyal cortege. It was despicable, really, for a princess to be hiding in a sewer. But she would do whatever was necessary to save her country. It was bad enough that Archadia had taken possession of her throne, but now the lowly despot Vayne was living in her palace, holding a fete there in his own honor while the people of Rabanastre starved and lived in hovels. She would stand for it no longer. Dalmasca would no longer be the plaything of an evil empire. It would end, tonight. She would see to it.


	2. oft go awry

Hello again! Thank you to those who reviewed! I greatly appreciate that you have read and the constructive ideas you have offered! They make the writing process much easier.

Updates will probably be kind of slow, thank you to the university and the large amount of papers they have assigned.

Oh, and as I forgot it the last time, I own nothing. It's all property of SquareEnix and whoever they choose to share it with. Unfortunately.

* * *

It was almost ridiculously easy to break into the palace treasury, an ease that, in retrospect, should have bothered Balthier more than it did. But for the time being he was perfectly happy to have made it in without near death experiences or soiled cuffs. Cuffs made the man, and he could not have his image tarnished. Image was almost as important to a sky pirate and the pirating itself.

Fran had already found their way into the treasure trove of the Dalmascan royal family, and they were carefully picking through the not so impressive spoils when she stopped, sensitive nose twitching as though something rather unpleasant had been placed under it. Balthier paused in his pillaging, listening carefully and watching the slight swivel of Fran's ears.

"The guard?"

"I do not believe so, it would appear to be only one. And one not cloaked in armor."

"Just to be safe…"

He gently pulled his partner into a small alcove near the entrance to the treasury, affording a better view of whoever had come to spoil their fun (and a not so better view of the duo.) They waited, Balthier silently cursing himself for not having found the magicite before now; he may not have another chance. He did not have long to berate himself, however, as the young boy who breathlessly appeared before them not a moment later posed about as much threat to Balthier as did a Moogle with a broken pom. The boy passed right by the pair with no inclination that he was not alone in the room. Balthier watched with growing impatience as the boy blundered about the room, thinking that it would be easier just to give him a hard knock to the head and be done with it. He looked up at Fran for confirmation, and she cocked her head slightly, eyes amused but wary, '_No'_.

The sharp intake of the boy's breath made him look back, and hot anger coursed through his veins, more at himself than the young blundering thief. The boy had managed to open a rather ugly statue that Balthier had all but ignored, and was pulling from it the pulsing, brilliant piece of magicite that had been the pirate's main objective. Well, now was as good a time as any to grab it and take leave. He and Fran were a pretty imposing pair, after all.

"Act One," he muttered, mentally admiring Fran's skill at knowing what to do without him having to say a word. Balthier threw his shoulders back, put on his best swagger, and sauntered out to meet the boy.

"That's quite a performance."

The boy spun on the spot, eyes wide with a terror that was even more evident in his voice. "Who are you?"

"I play the leading man, who else?" He allowed himself a smug smile, the kind that he reserved for special moments, and getting to say his favorite line definitely qualified as special. "Fran, the magicite."

His lithe partner appeared out of nowhere, one hand on her hip and the other extended to the boy. It amused Balthier that her sweet clipped tones could never sound particularly frightening, for all of her great efforts. He never told her this; she believed herself to be 'scary', and he would do nothing to spoil it for her. "Now then, I'll take that."

The boy did not appear to be in quite so giving a mood, for he pulled away, hiding the magicite from view, and there was an almost growl in his not quite over puberty voice. "No you won't, I found it, it's mine."

"And then when I take it from you, it'll be mine." Balthier was quite pleased with the hard edge to his voice, this was one of his better performances.

The duo stood waiting, side by side, combined forces against this young and terrified boy. Balthier tried not to be reminded of himself in the early days of his sky pirating, not to allow any nostalgia to creep into his eyes but to maintain their cool suave hardness as the boy made his choice to give up the treasury quietly or with a fight. Before anything could be decided either way the sound of heavily clanking armor filled the cramped treasury. The boy looked around in terror and began to run. Balthier only sighed.

"Exit stage right."

He and Fran made their escape, she to retrieve their hover and means of escape, he to track down the boy and claim his magicite. He would not risk life and limb crawling about in a palace to have his prize stolen from him by some scrappy little no-name thief. Emerging onto the walls surrounding the palace courtyard he was just in time to be almost thrown off balance by an immense explosion below him. Below him a fantastic fight had just broken out, while above a small fleet was bearing down on the palace.

"The Ifrit, eh? That's quite an entrance." He looked down at the stunned boy, lying sprawled at his feet. "Impeccable timing. If I didn't know better, I'd say they were waiting all along."

The commotion had not been for them at all. Balthier stared at the massive underbelly of the airship, thinking. Just like the empire, to create such a clever and splashy ruse. A small part of him regretted not having spent a little more time in the treasury, as all the guard was otherwise occupied. But no matter; the magicite was the most important thing. And it was currently halfway between him and the explosions. Another wave and the wall was swaying dangerously. In trying to keep his balance Balthier had lost his edge on the boy-he had made it quite a ways across the parapet. This was becoming annoying. Fast.

"Stop running!" Right, as if that was going to work. He mentally kicked himself and kept up his sprint.

Fran landed the hover just in front of the boy, effectively heading him off, and Balthier felt a little thrill of triumph.

"End of the line."

The boy stopped, caught between the two pirates, looking around for escape but beginning to accept he was caught. Balthier gestured for the magicite. "You have something that belongs to me."

It was within his grasp, the boy was going to surrender, Balthier had won …

…and then the search lights shone from above, and the guards were running toward them, and in those bare seconds all had gone to hell.

"Fran, let's move!"

Without a word she zoomed off on the hover bike, and Balthier had just time to grab the boy and throw him off the balcony before the clanking footsteps halted on the spot at which they had just stood. Balthier barely had time to register fear as he landed deftly on the motor bike, reaching out to grab the boy as they passed. Fran navigated the fiery debris around them, trying to find an escape, while Balthier held on as best he could to the squirming boy's wrist.

"Let go of me!" the thief-boy shouted, trying vainly to wrest himself of Balthier's grip.

"Keep this up and I will," he spat through gritted teeth. In the back of his mind he couldn't help but think how cool this would look had there been anyone around to see it. Alas, there was not. He had just enough time to feel disappointed before a frustrated moan escaped his partner, and he looked over in exasperation to see her now struggling to keep the bike in the air.

"What's going on, Fran?"

"I don't know, it's not heeding me."

"Ugh, I don't have time for this."

The confusion of fighting and smoke and explosions in the courtyard were overwhelming the trio on the bike and they fell further and further towards it, Fran desperately trying to steer the bike and keep them aloft, Balthier trying to stay _on_ the blasted thing and hold onto the boy, and the boy … well he wasn't entirely sure what the boy was trying to accomplish at this point. Another explosion just to their left; they went down, crashing through a haze of smoke, fire, and oddly displaced brick to land in the stinking darkness of somewhere below that Balthier did not even want to think about; he hadn't yet managed to decide if he had survived the fall.


	3. is that Princesses aren't fond of you

She did not know how she had gotten to this point.

How she had fell from being the Crown Princess of one of the greatest nations on the planet to crawling around in a lowly sewer filled with waste and the fallen bodies of her compatriots. She was Ashelia Dalmasca, the beautiful desert bloom, who only two years before had ridden in a parade on the streets above these very sewers, amid cheering citizens and flurries of confetti and flowers, all of Dalmasca celebrating he marriage. Oh how she never dreamed of what that happy day would come to. Now she was a widow, a very young widow haunted by dreams of her husband. A very young widow deposed of her throne. And presumed dead.

How the months of careful planning and preparation had come to naught. How Vayne had known. Because he had known. He had known of their plans to move against him, to overthrow him and take back Rabanastre. She began to toy with the possibilities that Vayne had planned the whole fete to lure them in and squash them, make a public spectacle of the Resistance as violent, destructive, dangerous subversives in order to rid the people of any lingering thoughts of support. And consequently of any hope.

Most of all she did not know what had happened to Vossler and the others, what fate had met her closest companions and aids. It chilled her to think that all of her people, all those by side, all those who remained who were close to her were dead, all because of her. Even more lives lost waging war against an evil empire. What good a Princess without a throne?

And now she wondered why the gods were so cruel as to land her in the hands of an oddly mismatched band of thieves, thieves who had stolen from her very own treasury! It was unthinkable that any good Dalmascan would dare plunder the royal treasury, whether there was a stinking dog of the Empire in the palace or not. But here she was. And she supposed she must make the best of it, for she could never hope to make it out of the sewers on her own. At least the thieves seemed capable of fighting, and of knowing their way around, and of sneaking and being quiet; all except the boy, who seemed a blundering idiot. Maybe he was new.

She supposed she ought to give them a little more credit. They didn't _have_ to help her; they could have left her to die at the hands of the Imperial soldiers or to wander the sewers and be consumed by the gooey blobs or ghosts or …

…by the fiery horse that now loomed above them. A horse, made of fire, standing knee deep in water. And still on fire. Well that was just lovely.

The battle was hot and fierce, and it took the four of them all they had to bring down the monster. They had barely time to catch their breath when the shouts of guards assailed their ears. Nearly twenty men, lining the railing, guns pointed at the raggedy foursome. The noise of the battle must have masked their coming. And in their midst-Vayne. Burning, pulsing rage coursed through her, and she lunged, determined that he would never come out of these sewers again.

A strong hand on her arm stopped her. _Now is not the time_. Dozens more guards were pouring down the stairs. Balthier was right; she had no chance against all these men. All she could do was allow herself to be taken into custody, hoping that somehow the Resistance would find her. She thought it was the least she could do to try to keep the thieves out of jail, after all their help. Though she wasn't sure exactly how much help the word of a dead Princess would be.


	4. is that you're always meeting new people

This chapter will probably seem pretty random, as I'm using it to set up my OC a little more and the only thing about it related to the game are cockatrices and the outpost along the Nebra in the Dalmasca Estersand. This will get worked into the actual game story line later though.

Again, thank you for reviews, and know that all comments and critiques are most gladly accepted and taken into consideration.

And no, the OC isn't me. More on her later.

Oh, and I own nothing.

* * *

The first thing she became aware of upon waking was the blindingly hot light that wouldn't allowher to open her eyes more than a mere fraction. The next was that every inch of her body ached, an ache that stretched down to her very core, and she felt a tremendous weight pressing down upon her, as though a Slaven wilder had decided to use her as a pillow. Finally, she became aware that it was unmercifully hot, and every breath only brought in more burning air and hard, choking particles of …

_Sand_.

She was lying face down in the sand. For all she had heard about various afterlives, none of them had sand. Deciding that she was in fact alive she lifted her head, blinking rapidly and trying to make shapes out of the white hot light. All around her there was naught but sand. Great shifting dunes rising and falling away, small grains running in rivulets and scattered by the wind. Her vision slowly swam into focus, bringing in distant shapes beyond the sand, what looked like tall rocks and perhaps a plant or two. She wondered at how plants managed to be so green in this burning wasteland.

She slowly pulled herself into a sitting position, gritty sand running down her arms and scratching at her eyes. She moved each finger, arms and legs, each toe, feeling for injury and finding none but the slowly dulling ache and a sickening dizziness. Water. She needed water. The skin at her side was empty, and nothing about her current sandy hell seemed to promise that there would be any water nearby. Unsure about her ability to stand she crawled to the shade of the nearest plant-tree thing, hoping at least that being out of the sun might regain her a little energy and prolong the seemingly inevitable death of being lost in a desert.

For it was becoming more and more clear to her that she was indeed terribly lost. Not only did she have absolutely no idea where she was, she did not even know where she was supposed to be. She could not remember the last place she had been, the last thing she did, nothing that would explain why she had awakened face-down in the desert. She could not remember anything, nothing, not a trace of life or person before awakening just a bare few moments before. Panic slowly started to swell in her chest, smarting in eyes that were too dry for tears. She searched her head vainly, trying to create an image of some other place, of a person, of anything that wasn't the desert or a rock. She could remember _things_, objects she had held, like books and teacups, and she knew what sand was, and trees and water, and she knew about the history of something called Ivalice. She could picture airships and she knew how they worked, and she knew how to ride a chocobo and how to solve complicated mathematical theorems. But none of this mattered just now, what mattered was who she was and why she was here. And those things completely escaped her. Perhaps, further back in the recesses of her mind, somewhere …

She was snapped out of her revere by a strange chortling sound not far to her right, followed by several answering chortles. There were several strange creatures, _cockatrices_, her mind whispered, waddling off down the sandy dune she had previously been lying on. She cautiously stood, holding the tree for support, and watched them. If they could survive here, so could she, and perhaps they might be headed to-the beautiful shining river that was plainly only a few yards in front of her now that she looked properly.

Deciding now was not the time to berate herself she half ran half stumbled to the water, sat down in it, filled the skin full, and drank. A wonderful lightness filled her head, and the cool river slipped across her skin like silk, washing away the sand and the pain, making her feel whole again. She looked into the river, noting the terrified blue-violet eyes that stared back and the straggly wet blonde hair that clung to her shoulders; even her reflection did not know who she was.

Once she felt alive again she stood and began following the river downstream, hoping that some small fishing village or other would stationed along the way. She noted the gun in the holster on her side, and dully noted that she knew how to use it. Hopefully she wouldn't have to.

Not far into her journey she came upon a tiny outpost, and cautiously approached the curious stares of several small children who sat on a run-down dock, keeping one eye on her and the other at something across the river she couldn't see. She stopped, ankle-deep in the river and extraordinarily nervous, waiting. After what felt an eternity a small blonde boy slid off of the dock and came towards her, extending his hand.

"I'm Tchigiri, what's your name?"

Oddly enough, she realized she knew the answer to that. Or at least she thought she knew the answer to that.

"Zoe."


	5. is that you can't do it from a dungeon

Fran's ultra-sensitive Viera nose was assaulted with the stenches of unwashed Humes and corruption from the moment they had been thrown into the filthy prison. She sniffed delicately, dust from the crumbling ceiling making her want to sneeze, and tried not to glare too hard at the back of Balthier's head. She had been none too keen on the breaking into the palace scheme to begin with, and was currently none too keen on being stuck in the small, hot underground room littered with bones and decaying bodies. At least the guards had seen fit to untie them; apparently they did not believe it possible that anyone could ever find a way out. Fran was intent upon proving them wrong.

The guards had thrown the boy rather unceremoniously upon the dirt floor, and he had not stirred in the couple of hours since their arrival. Her partner sat slumped next to him, his posture rather more unkempt than Fran liked to see it. She stood, hand on hip, waiting. She wondered what the proper amount of time would be before she could find their escape without much notice. None of the other inhabitants of their dungeon seemed interested in the least in leaving; the wandered aimlessly about, and Fran wondered if they were truly alive or simply figments of her mind's workings. Escape had to be possible, if not ridiculously easy; this was not a real dungeon after all, but just a sealed up fortress, and a rather ornate one at that. There would be a way for the inhabitants of the fortress to flee when necessary.

Balthier looked up at her, an uncharacteristic weariness lining his youthful features, a weariness he would let no one but her see.

"Fran," his voice soft, raspy, the absence of polish and culture something he would only let her see as well. "I am sorry to have gotten us mixed up in this. It should have been but a simple heist. But I swear to you, I shall get us out. Can't very well become Ivalice-renowned sky pirates from down here now can we?"

"No," her voice rather harsher than she planned it to be. "I shall get us out."

Seeing the moment of hurt on his face, she hastily added, "My senses would serve far better to this purpose. You stay with the boy. He is far too young and impetuous, and like as not would get himself killed down here with little trouble."

"You are right, as always love. Do be quick, won't you? The filth in this place is doing little for the state of my cuffs."

She afforded Balthier what only he would recognize as a smile and flitted off through the dungeon, stilletoed heels making barely a sound against the dirt floor. The only fresh air she could sense came through their small window and through the large open skylight situated above a rather ominous looking bone littered bit. She did not like to be in a place so full of death. On her search of the rooms near the one in which her partner and the young thief waited she found one full of dead bodies and was informed by one of the mumbling wraith outside it that this was where they would all end up. Pleasant, that.

Finding herself almost in the belly of the dungeon Fran had almost resigned to turning back and trying a different way when she felt it; subtle yet sharp, a thin 'breeze' of mist that no Hume would have ever been able to pick up on. It was at once warm and cool, seeming to draw her toward it. And with it, their way out. She was terribly uneasy about following the mist, but it afforded them escape from this death-ridden dungeon. She would take it.

Scarcely had she turned to go back to Balthier than she heard the cacophony of jeers and the sound of fists smacking bulbous flesh. She prayed to the Wood that these sounds would not lead to her dear Hume partner and their new young charge, though she knew these were empty words (not only because the Wood no longer cared to listen to her, but because she knew her Balthier could stand to be nowhere but the center of attention and excitement.) Fran arrived at the iron gates just in time to watch Balthier land a final blow to the leering Seeq who joined his companions on the dirt floor of the pit she had noticed earlier. It seemed the entire prison had come to watch the show, and overhead she heard the clanking of many more armored guests arriving. Balthier and the boy backed themselves against the wall, and Fran quickly and quietly began working to release the locking mechanism on the gate. They sidled across to her, Balthier looking agitated and expectant.

"Though the oubliette, there is a way out. Only…"

"Only you sense the Mist."

She loved this about him, that he could finish her thoughts with such ease. She nodded. Balthier steeled his resolve.

"Then we'll need weapons."

He turned and helped Vaan through the small opening in the gate, just as Ba'Gamnan cut across the still air again. He was making rather bigger threats than Fran felt was wise; perhaps the Imperials would take care of him, and she and Balthier could travel the skies a little less harassed.

The voice who answered was not that of one of the punitive guards, however, but a cold, weighty, armor-distorted response that, though she knew not its exact owner, was enough for her to know who this man was.

"A judge."

"Judge?" the boy wrinkled his face at her in confusion, but it was Balthier who answered, his voice dripping disdain and malice.

"The self-proclaimed guardians of law and order in Archadia. They're the elite guard of House Solidor, which effectively makes them the commanders of the Imperial Army. If you ask me, they're more executioners than judges. Not a friendly lot, at any rate. What are they doing here?"

Fran had been wondering that same thing, and what it would mean for their escape. She saw no reason the Judge should complicate things, but all the same she was ready to be gone of this place. Ba'Gamnan and a Judge just seemed entirely too coincidental, even if she did enjoy the Imperials putting the savage bounty hunter in his place. But what was that about the Captain?

Before she had time to ponder things properly the Judge began walking toward the very doors through which they needed to head. Her eyes followed Balthier's, and she could see that he knew as well as she what needed to be done.

"Time for the hare to follow the fox."

Vaan made confused noises at no one in particular, so Fran took it in her turn to answer him.

"The magicks binding the door to the oubliette are quite strong. Too strong, even for my talents."

"That's why we'll get them to open it for us." Balthier clapped the boy on the shoulder as he went by, a paternal gesture that made Fran smile a little. She liked the young thief; he reminded her of a slightly more bumbling version of Balthier when they had first met, all innocence and arrogance. The gods were quickly ridding the boy of these things.

She snapped from her musings as the boy started to argue. "How's going deeper into this place-"

"What's wrong? You don't trust her?" Balthier rounded on the boy, furious and protective over the second of the great loves of his life (first being the sky; Fran would often argue the second was the Strahl, and she the third, but Balthier would not abide this.) "Viera's noses are sharp. If she says there's a way out, there's a way out."

Fran only twitched her nose in faked annoyance and followed them out of the pit.


	6. is that it gives you wings

So ... it's been awhile. Sorry for that :(

Hope this makes up for it a little!

Oh, and the only thing I own is the computer on which I typed this :) The rest is Squares.

* * *

The dust slowly settled and a few rays of sunlight filtered into the dark cool hall. They were the first rays of sun the Basch fon Ronsenberg had seen in two long years. His eyes stung and smarted but he forced them to stay open, relishing the warmth and the light, this new sense of wonderful freedom. He cared not that the next couple of days would be spent trekking across open desert or that he was thought of by most of the world as a dead man and traitor; for this one glorious moment his only thought was that tomorrow morning he would not wake in a cage buried deep underground; tomorrow morning he would know that it was morning. Basch breathed deeply, though it hurt his shrunken ribs to do so, and tasted the sweet sandy liberty that it promised.

He swallowed the twinges of guilt that he should taste the air while Reks and the Lords of Dalmasca could not, consoling himself with the thought that now he was out he could better serve the Resistance and defend his fallen honor. Vaan, Balthier, and the occasional aside from Fran had told him of their meeting with the precocious Princess, and the attempts to bring down the Empire. While he doubted anything could truly be done, knowing that the Empire was too powerful and its hounds too stealthy, it was his sworn duty to protect the Dalmascan crown; that now meant the one fallen Princess.

The Captain stood at the edge of the cliff on which they had emerged, starring over the endless miles of sand before him. "To think Dalmascan air could taste so sweet."

Vaan looked off-footed, especially for a Dalmascan, Basch mused. "Where are we?"

Balthier answered, annoyance not well hidden in his clipped tones. "The Estersand, by the look of it. Let's back to Rabanastre before we shrivel up." He brushed sand from the folds of his shirt and behind him Fran twitched it out of her ears impatiently. "By your leave Captain."

"Yes," Basch agreed as he approached his comrades and liberators. "The hour of my return is already over late. The people may hate me, but that does not free me of my charge."

He saw the doubt and anger in Vaan's eyes (though, to his happy surprise, he noted that it seemed to be receding) and the amusement in Balthier's as the young man lead them down the embankment and out across the sands. Basch enjoyed the feeling of the sand sliding beneath his feet, the gentle breezes from the Nebra wafting against his skin, even the chilling sounds of the howling wolves and squealing Cockatrices. It was all welcome to the fallen Captain, who trudged across the desert perhaps less weary than his companions, thinking about the hot bath and non-moldy food that awaited him in Rabanastre.

* * *

It was not exactly that he expected his former compatriots to welcome him back into the folds with open arms and a parade through the city streets, but the cries of 'traitor' that reached him through the thin walls were heart-wrenching none the less. Basch stood in Vossler's chamber, looking at his clean and newly shaven face in the spotted glass, listening to the doubts and quarrels wafting toward him. He knew it was better than he deserved that they had even bothered to listen and had not just loped of his head the moment he passed through Rabanastre's gate. He knew they had no reason to believe that Basch was innocent, that he had an identical twin brother who happened to be an Imperial Judge and had also happened to frame him for the murder of the Dalmascan Crown. He knew that his honor and dignity had gone the night that Raminas died, the night that Ashe had been forced to flee, the night that his innocent young soldier lost his life, the night that he failed to do his duty and protect his charge and did not die trying. But still he hoped that somehow they would forgive him, they would understand.

Even Vossler, his old friend, would not believe him, would not cast his suspicions aside and believe Basch anything but and abettor of the Empire. Not even Vaan's arrival and testimony could sway the steeled minds of much of the room.

Vossler stood nose to nose with Basch, gripping the sword tightly.

"Our paths will remain separate."

Basch appealed the best way he knew how, "Do you not think Amalia worth saving?"

Vossler sneered but did not deign to acknowledge the question. "I hold men's lives in my hands. I must treat you as I would Ondore…as I would any abettor of the Empire."

"So what will you do?" Basch demanded, anger welling inside him. "Hold me here in chains?"

Vossler turned to glare at him, rage written across his own gaze. The rage slowly melted into weary resolve, and sighing Vossler tossed the sword and Basch deftly caught it.

"Some things never change, do they?"

* * *

_I know something of cages_.

His own words hauntingly resounded in his head as he followed Vaan through the alleys of Lowtown. He had to see Ondore, to fix the whole mess of his presumed death and to do whatever he could for the Resistance. And for that he needed wings. _Even caged birds need wings._ And the only discreet wings he could depend on belonged to a Sky Pirate. He asked the favor of Vaan, that he would take him to find Balthier, his best chance of making it into Bhujerba without being skewered on the point of a sword.

"This makes us even," the boy said as he walked towards the stairs to the city.

"Even?"

"For Nalbina. We couldn't have done it without you."

Basch allowed himself a small smile. It was a start, if nothing else; one little bit of forgiveness.


	7. is that the airship makes the man

"This is the _Strahl_."

Balthier puffed his chest out and rested his hands on his hips in fake nonchalance as he stared at his baby, pride and amusement playing just beneath his smoothly controlled features.

"She airship enough for you?"

The boy knocked against him in his excitement to get to the ship. He stopped short in amazement, wanting to reach out and touch it but not quite sure of Balthier's reaction if he were to do that.

"The _Strahl_. You really are a Sky Pirate," Vaan breathed as though he had just now believed it.

"Well the headhunters seem to think so," he responded rather drolly.

"What's the good word, is she ready?" Nono hopped down from the steps into the ship, wrench aloft in a symbol of triumph. Balthier raised his hand in greeting and thanks as they passed. He rather enjoyed the little creatures, despite the prejudice against their extorting ways.

"So, is she armed? How fast is she? Could she take the Ifrit?"

Balthier listened to the prattle of questions with a mixture of amusement and mild annoyance. "I suppose I could tell you, but…" he paused to wave the boy aboard. "Wouldn't you rather see for yourself?"

Fran took her seat next to him, polished and professional, pressing the controls before she had fully sat down. The Captain joined them, taking position just behind Balthier's seat, peering out the huge bay windows.

"How flies Bhujerba?"

"Oh, she's as free as she can be, for now," Balthier mused. "The Empire took notice when they announced the Princess' suicide and your untimely execution.

He continued booting up the ship while watching the scene next to him. Vaan had abruptly leaned over Fran, curiously examining the controls, and Fran, (startled wasn't the right word, Fran was never startled) whipped around and with one glance made the boy back off. She was none too keen on anyone near her really. The boy stepped back, hand dropping away from the control he was about to touch, and moved over to stand behind Balthier instead.

"If it becomes know that I am alive, the Marquis will lose their favor." the Captain adeptly switched his focus back to the conversation at hand.

"I try to steer clear of such things," he replied with a hint of sarcasm. The lights on the control sprang to life, bathing his face in soft orange. "Right, it's time to fly. And no wagging tongues or you're like to bite them off," he added, hoping the boy would let them have a peaceful flight before their meeting with the ruthless head hunters. Never mind Ba'Gamnan.

* * *

Balthier was less than amused. His desire to go traipsing through the magicite meadows that were Lhusu was somewhere just above his desire to have each of his legs tied to a separate chocobo and be pulled up and down the streets of Bhujerba in his nightclothes on the way to let the Imperial Guard pull out each of his fingernails and feed them to him. Or shortly, he didn't really desire it at all. He was also not a huge fan of the young lordling that had decided to accompany their little party; Balthier had recognized the Solidor house symbol holding the boys cape together, the polished accent of the Arcadian gentry. Why the youngest son of the Emperor would want to come exploring the depths of a dirty mine escaped him, but it could be nothing good. What was more, they had traipsed all up and down the labyrinthine hells of this place with nary a sign of the girl-or Ba'Gamnan, now that he thought of it, and he couldn't decide just where to go with this particular revelation. It was certainly no great loss of company, but at the same time Balthier was eager to find the girl, take the little street urchins back to Rabanastre, and take Fran and the Strahl back to the skies where they belonged. He was thoroughly tired of being underground where he could not even see the smallest wisp of cloud.

He watched the young 'Lamont' gazing at the glittering magicite in the walls of the mine with more fascination than he liked to see. The same look had graced Cid's face, and it was a look Balthier knew boded no good.

"Errand all attended to then?"

The boy did not turn from the magicite as he responded. "Thank you. I'll repay you shortly.

"No, you'll repay us now," he strode towards the boy as he spoke. "We have too much on our hands to go on holding yours."

The boy turned, concern etched across his young features.

"So where did you hear this fairytale about nethicite?" Balthier was towering over the boy now, mere inches from him. "And where did you get that sample you carry? What do you know about the Draklor Laboratories?"

The boy tried to turn away, but Balthier put up an imposing arm to stop him, leaning against the rock over the boy. "Tell me: who are you?"

"Balthier!" Vaan came up, clearly agitated at Balthier's behavior. He could feel the Captain's confused silence, Fran's concerned and reproachful stare, but he had no time to address either.

"You kept us waiting Balthier." Well, now he had the answer to his revelation. It was bad.

"You slipped away in Nalbina, we missed you!"

Ba'Gamnan and two of his cronies, Balthier had never had the time or care to learn their names. What with them looking to kill him everything he turned around he didn't think formalities realy mattered.

"First a Judge and now this boy, the whole affair has the smell of money about it."

Balthier was impressed with his wit at the moment, and his ability to keep calm when he was quaking. "Keep your snout in the trough where it belongs. This thinking ill befits you Ba'Gamnan."

Vaan surged forward, demanding his girl; Balthier was not a little impressed at the boy's gumption, particularly in the face of the bounty hunters' odd murderous tools.

"This girl; we cut her loose when we got here and off she ran, crying like a babe."

'_Well_,' Balthier thought, '_at least one thing is going right today_.'

'Lamont's' magicite sample wizzed past his head, distracting the muddle headed Banga long enough for the party to run past. Balthier was torn between chasing 'Lamont', who was surprisingly fast, and escaping the Banga, who were not so much. They had almost reached the entrance of the mines where they halted for breath, all of them hot and panting, aside from Fran, who shook out her hair and announced that they had lost the Banga.

'_But we lost the boy too_,' Balthier thought ruefully as they headed back down the winding cart tracks.

* * *

He was not entirely sure how the events of the day had gotten them to where they were now. Just before noon he and Fran had been lounging in the Sandsea, planning where they would go next (it was going to take awhile, as Fran kept shooting down all of his ideas, mostly because there was a 102% chance they would result in death) and now he was being arrested and detained by the Marquis of Bhujerba for he knew not entirely what, and tomorrow would be lead away to a prison ship to face the Judges. Not exactly his best day. Not his worst, by any means, but not so much the best either. Fran was most thoroughly put out with him, though only he could really tell the subtle changes on her impassive and beautiful face. He smiled and moved to sit next to her, pushing his shoulder against her so she might rest her head. She leaned against him, long ears tickling the back of his neck, allowing herself one moment of unguardedness while the others slept on the hard bunks around them, guards standing just outside the door.

"We seem to keep making our way into dungeons, Sky Pirate."

"In defense, dearest, this dungeon is in the sky. So it is not a true dungeon, and we _are_ in the sky."

Fran did not reply, only the subtle twitching of one of her ears cluing him that she was amused. Balthier smirked; they would get out of this, he and his leading lady, and go back to the skies free to write the rest of their story. They did need to be more careful, though; he wasn't sure how many more times they would be able to wriggle away from death.

Fran's ears drooped, her breath coming in softer, slower motions against his arm, signaling she was asleep. He smiled slowly, content for the moment, banishing the worry in favor of enjoying what could be the last peaceful moment for a long while.


End file.
